Tooth and Claw
by Getafixia
Summary: Draco finds romance where, and when, he least expects it.
1. Chapter 1

'Tooth and Claw'

Chapter One

The extraordinary thing about people, Draco thought, was the speed with which they could resume their everyday lives as if they had not almost come to an abrupt and ugly end.

Often now, surveying a crowd, he found himself marveling anew at the way the assembled could treat the Dark Lord's resurrection and demise like any other event, fit to be discussed over an idle coffee, perhaps, and then swiftly forgotten. Of course there had been the round of funerals held on both sides by the participants of the Battle of Hogwarts, a few speeches and a brief flurry of memorials, but after a year or so the silent agreement throughout the wizarding world seemed to be that such events were best consigned to history as quickly as decorum would allow.

For Draco, however, forgetting had never come easily; even as a child, his ability to hold a grudge had been legendary among his family, and for a brief time his mother had taken to calling him her little scowler until his father had with a curt word put an end to it. Even now, he could feel the left-over simmer of resentment towards Potter and his little gang, the sense of having been wronged and the desire, however ridiculous it might seem to him today, for revenge. That Draco was now old enough to see the absurdity of such feelings detracted not one bit from the intensity of the emotions, the lingering feeling of having been snubbed, ridiculed, and now, it seemed, abandoned by the rest of the world even at the tender age of twenty, as a living artifact of an era people were struggling mightily to pretend had never occurred.

Well then, let them, he thought with contempt, as he stared out across the ballroom at the assembled Ministry dignitaries; let them treat me as if I were just some figment from a happily concluded, half-remembered dream. The well-fed faces, ruddy over their formal robes, filled him with venom. Cowards, all of them: how few of these great wizards and witches, now stuffing down canapes while they mingled and fawned over the new Minister of Magic, had had the courage to fight on either side of the greatest battle of their time, to commit to much more than public disapproval of the Dark Lord while busily barricading themselves behind their walls and wards. Not for the first time, Draco imagined with a sort of relish the long receiving line there might have been had the Dark Lord triumphed, as each of these hypocrites took their turn prostrating themselves at his pallid feet and avowing how they'd secretly yearned to be Death Eaters all along.

"Draco!" His mother's voice cut easily through the crowd and through his gloomy meditation. In a moment he had smoothed his face of all emotion and replaced it with a small, mocking smile he thought of as one of his most effective expressions, communicating just the right mixture of servility and disdain. "Coming, mother," he replied.

Effortlessly he moved through the milling guests, a tall, thin, striking figure in his velvety ermine robe, his pale face and white hair marking him unmistakably as his father's son. Draco thought he sensed, as he often did, a slight recoiling as these strangers recognized him and moved to let him pass. Even after all this time, under their apparent confidence and public shows of polite good cheer, they feared him — as if the Dark Lord might at any moment spring from under his perfectly tailored robe, emerging to spoil their party once again.

Cowards.

Narcissa Malfoy was busily chatting with a tall, foreign-looking wizard when Draco reached her side. She broke off in mid-sentence when he arrived and placed a hand on the small of his back.

"Ah, there you are, darling! I wanted to introduce you to the Baron Frederick von Mecklenburg … Baron, may I present my son, Draco." A gentle pressure from her hand prompted him to return the Baron's slight bow.

"Ah, young Draco, a pleasure," the wizard said in a high, reedy voice. "I don't know if you knew this, m'boy, but our families share some quite illustrious history. Your great grandmother, Druella Rosier, and my great aunt Hortense were sisters, both of whom were instrumental in the reforms pertaining to the domestication of magical creatures during the close of the Victorian era, a period in which I have some small interest. For example … "

The wizard continued on in a pedantic tone, but Draco had ceased to listen; for just then he'd caught sight of the last person he wanted to run into at this event, and who was now making a beeline for his small group. For a moment he had a crazy urge to disapparate, just leave and deal with his mother's considerable wrath later on that night. But it was too late, Draco knew: he'd been spotted, and now he was trapped.

"Why, Astoria, dear, how nice to see you!" Narcissa greeted the newcomer, a young woman in a long, pea-green gown, with an enthusiasm which barely hid her relief at this interruption of the Baron's soliloquy. "Don't you look lovely! … Tell me, how is your mother? You really must ask her to drop me an owl, it's simply been an age since we've had a chance to sit down and have a decent chat."

On another evening, Draco might have taken a moment's private pleasure in his mother's hypocrisy, knowing, as he did, how much Narcissa had always detested Astoria's entire family, once calling them "the miserable progeny of a house-elf and a drunken Squib." But with Astoria's adoring eyes fixed on him even as she answered his mother's questions, Draco had little time for such luxuries as he desperately tried to plan some sort of escape.

Early that summer, at a lawn party held near the Malfoy's country home in Devonshire, Draco had made what he now regarded as one of the more foolish decisions of his recent life and had, after a number of butterbeers, against the backdrop of a beautiful sunset, snogged Astoria Greengrass for perhaps half an hour behind one of the tents; the same Astoria who now, of course, was regarding him with an expression of ill-concealed greed on her small face. Not that she was a bad sort, really, but her apparently boundless enthusiasm for Draco made him uncomfortable and left him somewhat at a loss. For one thing, she was three years younger than he, still at Hogwarts, where Draco and her older sister Daphne had been housemates at Slytherin. For another, he wasn't particularly interested; not only was Astoria kind of plain-looking, but she had an unfortunate tendency to wrinkle her nose as if she smelled something foul, and was fond of sucking at the ends of her hair.

Ordinarily, then, Draco would simply have brushed her off, making excuse after excuse until she took the hint; but that wasn't possible in this case because of one key factor, which was, in a word, Daphne.

Simply, Daphne Greengrass was no one you wanted to cross if you knew what was good for you — it was said that Zacharias Smith was still prone to large, painful boils from the hex Daphne had placed on him after she'd caught him cheating on her during one Winter Ball — and her temper was legendary even among the volatile Slytherins. So while Draco wasn't afraid of Daphne, per se, he was acutely aware that she would take a dim view of anything he might do to hurt her baby sister's feelings. For all he knew, he might have been Astoria's first real kiss; certainly, the naked adoration the girl showed towards him meant she had clearly fallen, hard. This was one conversation Draco knew had to be handled just right, if he didn't want to find himself explaining it all, at length, to the vindictive and dangerous Daphne.

Because he had yet to figure out how to do this, his plan now, as it had been for the past weeks, was evasion and delay. Even as Astoria tried to slip her hand into his, Draco was craning his neck to discover someone, anyone, he might use as an excuse to escape the girl's side. He had to admit to himself that even the sight of Harry Potter and his noxious little gang would have come as a relief; but in the mass of faces there were only dim Ministry functionaries and their colorless spouses, waiters with serving trays, musicians and caterers, and, on the far side of the room, a young woman in a long blue dress, a woman Draco felt he knew, but couldn't pin down. She stood alone and apparently unconcerned as the crowd flowed around her, her long, white-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and her eyes moving slowly back and forth until, suddenly, they met his, and he knew her.

Had he been a different sort of person he might have uttered a small sound of relief; but Draco prided himself on his icy self-control, and so he merely made hurried excuses, brushed aside Astoria's small, damp palm as it once again sought his, and wound his way through the crowd to the girl who stood quietly staring at his approach as if she'd been expecting him the entire time.

"Luna Lovegood," he said when he reached her, as if unsure whether he had the right person after all. Draco thought this a fairly dumb way to greet someone and felt himself flush slightly, but Luna only smiled, a smile he now remembered, an expression of gentle curiosity towards the world.

"Draco Malfoy," she said. She gave a small silvery laugh and, with a quick, elegant gesture utterly unlike Astoria's, she reached out and drew him by the hand out of the crowd, out of the room, through wide double doors into the fresh air of the autumn night.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Draco followed her, almost in a daze. As hard as he tried, he was having difficulty matching the slim Ravenclaw he'd seen around Hogwarts to the beautiful young woman who now led him gently by the hand onto a balcony away from the ballroom and the milling Ministry guests. The silver-blonde hair was the same, as was the pale skin, even the way she walked, a gentle meander, unhurried and yet showing somehow a quiet resolution. When she turned again to him he saw that her eyes, too, were the same, a bluish grey like a storm at sea. But something in Luna Lovegood had changed, something which made Draco realize that this was the first time in their entire lives they had ever been alone together, which left his throat feeling dry and sent his normally agile mind searching madly for something to say.

"You look … great," Draco said, for lack of anything better. Having reached the balcony's edge, but still holding his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Luna turned to him and once again showed him her smile.

"You look like you need a friend," she replied. Draco's first instinct was to laugh, to say something cutting, but her face was open and it was instantly clear she wasn't mocking him. So he confined himself to a curt nod, the closest he could come to open agreement, and shifted his body away from her to look out into the night.

A clear half-moon hung askew among a scatter of stars. He asked, quietly, "What makes you say that?"

"I was watching you, long before you saw me. I saw you with Astoria. You really shouldn't have done that, you know." Luna regarded him evenly, and the gentle presence of her hand in his remained unchanged.

Now Draco was genuinely uncomfortable; he felt his color rising once again. "How did you .. I mean, what have you heard? Did she … I mean, who have you been talking to? Who else knows?"

"Knows what?" Luna said, cocking her head slightly in a way he suddenly remembered from the days at Hogwarts, from all those hours he'd spent staring with moody venom at Potter and his gang. For the first time, Draco remembered that he had fought this girl's friends, even tried, in some sense, to have her killed along with so many others, and the memory made him tingle with a familiar mix of rage and shame.

"Knows what? Knows what?" He mimicked her cruelly, but if she detected the anger in his voice or was disturbed by it, she gave no sign. "About me and Astoria, of course, what the bleeding hell do you think?"

"Oh, nobody, I mean, unless they've been talking to the Nargles … they're awful gossips, you know. I could just tell by the way you two were, that's all. I mean, isn't she a bit young? Really, I wouldn't have thought it of you."

Anyone else speaking to him this way would have earned the most vicious rebuke Draco could muster, but Luna's even gaze and steady smile, without the barest hint of disdain, disarmed him. So instead he simply said, "You're right, of course." He was finding it difficult to meet her eyes.

In the short silence which followed Draco finally separated himself from her, stepping back and sweeping both hands through his thin hair in a moment of self-conscious vanity. He smoothed the front of his formal robes and looked down at her shoes, which were small and cream-colored and open-toed, baring her unpainted toenails to his gaze. They were, he found himself thinking, the most delicate, perfect toes he had ever seen. His eyes travelled upwards to take in the soft blue of her dress as it flowed over her hips; it left her shoulders bare and he was stunned, standing this close to her, by the nearly translucent quality of the flawless skin. Before he could stop himself, his eyes had traced as well the curve of her soft young breasts beneath the silky fabric and he realized that his stare might be considered terribly rude. But again, if Luna had either noticed or taken offense, she gave no sign; her smile, curious, enigmatic, revealed nothing, nor did she blush beneath the directness of his examination. Instead, she said, "It used to be my mother's."

For a moment Draco hadn't the least idea what she meant. He stammered, hating himself for the uncertainty in his voice, "Oh … and how is she these days?"

"She's dead," Luna replied, simply.

Draco found himself once again at a loss for words. How could you talk to someone who was so direct, so unapologetic in her honest description of the world?

"I didn't know that," he said finally. And then, hesitantly, he added, "Did she … did she die in the battle?"

"Oh, no, don't worry, it had nothing to do with you or, you know, Voldemort." He was surprised at the relief he felt and once again obscurely angry, although whether at himself or the girl he couldn't tell. "I was only a child. But I like wearing her clothes, although some people think that's morbid. I feel like she's near me all the time, although I can't see her. What do you think … do you think the dead remain here, watching us? That's how it always seems to me, in my dreams."

Draco looked at her a long moment. He said, "You know, I think you're the strangest girl I've ever met."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Luna replied.

They stood together, facing one another, not speaking, until suddenly Draco realized that he was smiling from ear to ear. He laughed then, a laugh free of rancor or bitterness, the first such laugh he'd given anyone for a long, long time.

"Of that," he said, "I have no doubt at all." And with that, it was Draco who reached out, impulsively, and before he knew it they were once again hand in hand, like children heading out to play, and he found himself breathing freely, deeply, the clean evening air.

"Yes," she said. And: "It really is a beautiful night."

Draco, smiling, nodding, gave another laugh. "Remind me never to disagree with you again," he said, teasingly.

"Promise," Luna replied.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

As if by unspoken agreement, Luna drew out her wand and, with a delicate flick of her wrist, they found themselves no longer on the balcony but down in the gardens of the estate, a series of topiary hedgerows illuminated by the light which poured from the tall windows of the manor house into the quiet night. Surrounded by the scents of crushed oak leaves, of pine and holly and crabapples, they began to stroll steadily away from the sounds of the party, which faded by the moment into an indistinct soft hum and were soon lost in the soft rustling of the dry wind and trees.

Draco walked along silently as she led the way, resolving not to betray his surprise; for while he might have been able to accept her abrupt and unaccustomed honesty, something in what she had just done had come dangerously close to hurting his pride. Soon, however, he found he couldn't contain himself and blurted out, "Okay, I have to know … how did you do that?"

Luna was gazing at the moon and responded in a faraway voice, as if barely aware of his presence beside her. "I told you, I could just see it in the way she looked at you, like, oh, I don't know, like she hadn't eaten in a year, or like you were a favorite toy she had been missing for a terribly long time."

"Not Astoria," he said, impatiently. "How did you disapparate like that? I've never … I mean, it was so … it didn't feel like when I do it, or my mother, or, well, anyone. It felt — well, like nothing, to be honest. How did you do that?"

Luna looked at him, and in the faint light her eyes were dark except for their centers, which held the reflections of the distant windows like tiny flames. "I don't know," she said simply. "How does it feel when you do it?"

"Not like that," Draco said, and then, before he could stop himself, he added, "Don't pretend you don't understand. I'm not an idiot — you forget, I've spent time at the side of the Dark Lord." The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, but it was too late.

"I haven't forgotten," she replied, and for the first time Draco thought he heard something in her voice, something less than neutral and not at all dreamy. He strained against the gathering darkness to read her face, but she had turned away from him with her steady step and all he could do was keep his place at her side.

For a time they walked in silence and Draco was left to try to divine her mood from the set of her shoulders or the swing of her arms, but she moved with the same languid pace and kept her eyes fixed ahead of them. When she spoke again he was startled at the wave of gratitude that swept through him at the sound, although what followed was hardly what he wanted to hear.

"I've heard he was a great Legilimens, that he could see into your mind and know when you were telling the truth. I wonder, is that what you want? Do you want to look that way into me, find out what's going on inside of me? You might, you know." Luna paused, then asked, in a tone of genuine curiosity, "Why do you think I'd want to lie to you?"

She didn't turn to him as she spoke. In some way that made things easier for Draco, and so he did his best to push aside his embarrassment as he replied. "No … no, I don't, of course. And yes, the Dark Lord could, well … he could see things." A memory of burning bloodshot eyes pressed in on him and he closed his own, continuing, "You could keep him out, but it was hard. It was terrible, really, and you always felt like he was only a moment away from learning everything, every little thing you'd always wanted to hide, even from yourself."

Having gotten this much out his voice faltered and died; this was more than he'd spoken of those days to anyone for a long time. Luna, however, merely continued walking, and so after a moment Draco cleared his throat, trying to regain some of the feeling they'd had on the balcony. "Anyway, I doubt very much I could find out anything from you which you didn't want to tell me. I can't even tell if you hate me, right about now." He was trying for a teasing tone, but in his own ears he sounded plaintive, pathetic.

"No, you couldn't."

Draco felt for a second as if he'd been slapped, until at last Luna stopped, turned towards him, and even in the semi-darkness he could see she was smiling once more.

"Luna Lovegood is having me on," he said, in a tone of mock disbelief. "Isn't she?"

"Are you relieved?" She stepped closer and now he could see her teeth between her lips, pearly in the moonlight.

"I'm not sure I'd dare lie to such a talented witch," Draco said, and she was right, he was relieved, and he was telling the truth. She laughed then, her silvery little laugh, and something in the sound made him bold. "Or to such a beautiful one, for that matter."

Luna studied him for a long moment, long enough so that he could feel his color once again begin to rise. Embarrassed, he said, "You can use your wand, of course … if you think I'm lying." He put his hands in the pockets of his robe and looked down at the dark ground, shifted his weight and heard the snap of a twig under his feet. When she didn't respond, he looked back up to find her eyes still fixed on him. He said, "I'm kidding, you know. I mean, about the wand. I'd really rather you not."

Her smile widened. "I don't need a wand," she said. "I've been told there are other ways of telling if a boy is lying to you."

Draco once again found himself at an unaccustomed loss for words. "Other ways?" he asked. She only laughed; he had to admit to himself, he loved her laugh.

His tongue circled his dry lips once. Some part of Draco simply refused to believe she could mean … but he would not put this into words, not even to himself. Instead, he pretended nonchalance and waited for her, memorizing the fall of her hair, the startling clarity of her moonlit skin. He didn't have to wait long. With another step towards him, so close he could feel the warmth of her body in the chill night air, she said, "I think I'm asking if I can kiss you, Draco Malfoy."

She just stood there, smiling, watching him.

Moving slowly, as if afraid he might with the gesture wake her from a dream, Draco rested his right hand on the curve of her hip; It was cool and firm and smooth under his palm. "I'm not sure that's something you need to ask me," he said.

"Some day," she said, "You're going to tell me something I don't already know."

And with that, Luna Lovegood raised her face to him and he felt her gentle lips against his, her arms sliding around his waist, her sweet warm mouth opening beneath his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Back home at the Manor, once again alone with his mother among the many drafty old rooms and passageways, Draco took to walking the farthest reaches of the old manse, as he had when still a child: it gave him time to think. He remembered how as a small boy the mere act of opening some creaking old door, covered with a century's dust and cobwebs, gave him a nameless thrill, an agony of fear and delight which was hardy dampened by the discovery that within there was little more than rotting furniture, say, or shelf after shelf of mouldering books — after all, there were fifty more doors like it waiting to be discovered, and in his boy's imagination, surely one of them had to hide some ancient, powerful, forgotten reward.

Now Draco did most of his walking in the early hours, and rarely paused to disturb the many closed doors or shadowy alcoves he passed regularly as he prowled the unused wings of the Manor. He hadn't slept well, not for a long time, and even as a teenager he had begun to enjoy the sole company of the moon as he made his plans and nursed his lonely ambitions through the long wakeful nights.

These days, however, he was suddenly no longer alone in his insomnia; one night a little less than a year ago, Draco had surprised his mother during one of his walks as she stood in a secondary parlor, staring critically at something near the juncture of wall and ceiling. They'd both given a start when they saw one another, and since Narcissa seemed preoccupied, and Draco was hardly one at the best of times to share his inner thoughts with his parents, he simply said goodnight and withdrew. After that, he became aware that she, too had begun to spend a portion of almost every night awake in Malfoy Manor — he could often hear the distant sound of her voice, instructing sleepy house-elves, dictating letters, or merely talking to herself in a quiet, faraway tone which never came to him as more than an indistinguishable whisper. Soon there were other changes: in the mornings, as Narcissa finally slept, workmen began to arrive to re-paper walls, to sand and finish floors, baseboards, and staircases, to hang new tapestries or cart the old and tattered ones away. New furniture arrived, along with more men, painters and scrapers, carpenters, tile-men and masons, and their tools often spilled over from room to room.

The only tentative attempt Draco ever made to discuss the matter with his mother came several months into this new phase, as Narcissa roused herself one day somewhat after noon to eat some breakfast. Draco had happened to be sitting nearby, reading the _Prophet_ in a shaft of sunlight. He took in the sight of his sleepy mother, somewhat bedraggled, reaching out as a house-elf girl rushed to hand her some coffee.

"Just curious, mum," he'd asked gently, in the least accusing tone he could muster, "But why don't you just … I mean, all of this — why not do most of this stuff with magic?"

His mother paused and drank, appearing to think it over, before answering. "Because I'd know," she said. "No matter who does it. It simply never turns out the same."

More changes followed. When his night-time walks took him near the kitchen, often now the smells of flour and sugar and freshly baked breads would seep through the corridors well after midnight. Peeking in, Draco saw that his mother had established a sort of office in one corner of the long room, complete with a desk and some makeshift shelves, to which a stream of house elves made a steady to-and-fro bearing newspapers, packages, tea and scones — warm from the oven, topped with jam and clotted cream, which Draco knew to be one of Narcissa's particular favorites — and bearing away orders, signed invoices, letters for the Owlery, and various other pieces of business both magical and Muggle. He noticed too that the house elves seemed to have divided themselves in half, with one part of the staff spending much of the nights here catering to their mistress and the other half serving the waking world; there were a number of them who used to serve at lunch, or work the gardens, whom one simply never saw anymore — unless one happened to be wandering Malfoy Manor, sleepless, in the middle of the night.

His father, as far as Draco knew, had noticed nothing; recently he'd spent practically all his nights at their London flat, working constantly on the family fortune and 'restoring the family name,' and had little time for anything else besides. It was only Draco and his mother, in and amongst these many rooms which held memories that, he was sure, she was as leery of revisiting as he found that he was; it had not escaped his notice that the first things to be replaced, the first rooms to be scoured, were the ones which the Dark Lord had favored during his brief, indelible stay in their home.

For the first time in many months, however, Draco had other things on his mind as he tracked up and down the halls during these early hours. Luna's lips, her voice, the soft halo her hair had formed around her face in that moonlight, the way she had kissed him among the rustle of leaves. Draco reviewed and savored each moment in the nights which followed, remembering the warmth of her, the soft and fragrant self she had for those minutes placed in his hands. The feeling of her fingers resting gently at the small of his back. The way she had moved into his arms, unafraid, seemingly reserving nothing. Draco wondered if he spent all this time replaying these moments because, on some level, he feared it had all been nothing more than a dream.

Despite his occasional boasts during the old days to Crabbe and Goyle, Draco actually had precious few experiences with girls: his studies, and later his all-consuming work on behalf of the Dark Lord, had left him little time for such things. Pansy Parkinson had made her interest in him clear from their first days together in Slytherin House, and for some time it had amused him to be pursued, to first flirt and then turn cold, to fondle her pliant form in a dark corner and then scarcely acknowledge her the next day when she passed him by. After the Yule ball they attended together in their fourth year, Draco had finally gotten her nearly naked and could probably have taken her virginity, which was clearly on offer; but something about her almost doglike devotion, maintained even in the face of his many slights, repulsed him and so he limited himself to exploring her body to his satisfaction and then sending her, clearly hurt and confused, back to her room. Otherwise, there was merely a drunken snog here or there, a few brief fumblings after this or that party, and, of course, that unfortunate episode with Astoria, none of which had proven exciting enough to merit much further consideration.

Whatever had begun with Luna, though, was completely different. It had been three days since their walk together through the hedgerows, and ever since he'd been stuck in a totally uncustomary state of indecision about exactly what to do next. He'd wanted to send an owl, a house elf, a messenger — something — virtually from the first moment he'd returned to the Manor, and yet his pride had prevented him. More than anything, he worried about appearing too eager, too young, worried that somehow she would detect his inexperience in the way he chose to follow up on whatever had happened between them that evening. Perhaps she was done with him, perhaps she had merely been bored and he'd been little more than a passing diversion. Perhaps like everyone else she had with a single thought already consigned him to the past.

She'd pulled away from him, that night, after many minutes of kissing, leaving his face feeling hot and his lips almost raw. Fixing him in her gaze she'd said, so clearly and directly he imagined he'd never forget it no matter what might come, "I don't want you to think this changes anything. I mean, I still haven't the faintest idea of who you are."

And despite that, she'd kissed him again.

On the fourth morning, still utterly undecided on what to do next, Draco awoke late from dreams in which a ghostly Luna uttered this last phrase over and over again to find the real Luna Lovegood sitting at his breakfast table, absorbed in conversation with his mother, the slanting sunlight shining in her hair like white, molten gold.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For a moment Draco froze in the doorway, unable to reconcile the presence of the very real girl with the memory which had so fixated him these past days. The women acknowledged him only with smiles and continued their conversation unbroken; as one house elf pulled up a chair for Draco and another arrayed out the breakfast things in front of him from a silver serving tray, his mother was inquiring with a practiced, gossipy ease, "And she really had no idea her husband was missing the entire time?"

"Papa says that the Minister had himself replaced with a goblin, whom he'd paid and then fed a Polyjuice potion — according to Papa, all the goblin had to do was show up at dinner to grunt at her occasionally, and no one was the wiser." Both women laughed, Narcissa not at all kindly, after which Luna added, "Apparently, the only thing his wife objected to was the smell, which the goblin fended off every time by promising her he'd cut back on the curries."

"Oh, that is too much!" Narcissa exclaimed, reaching over to offer Luna another cup of coffee, which Luna politely accepted. Then, as if noticing her son's presence at the table for the first time, Draco's mother said, "Look who stopped by, Draco —Xenophilius' daughter, you must know one another … weren't you in the same year at Hogwarts?"

Before Draco could respond, Luna said, "Oh, it's been such a long time; we were awfully young. When do you think we first met?" She turned to Draco, and he imagined the slight curve at one corner of her lip signaled that she was enjoying his discomfort. Once again, he found that in her presence all of his polish had deserted him.

"Must have been on the Express," he replied, in a rather more surly tone than he'd intended. In order to cover his rudeness he made an elaborate show of yawning and rubbing sleep out of his eyes before helping himself to coffee and appearing to absorb himself in buttering his roll.

As Narcissa prompted Luna for news of this or that acquaintance (it seemed Mr. Lovegood had an opinion on just about everyone in the wizarding world, opinions he'd clearly shared at length with his daughter), Draco studied them both from behind the barrier of his breakfast and his sullen scowl. In the old days, Narcissa would never have had the time or inclination to extend such a welcome to anyone except, perhaps, the most well-connected of her friends, and yet here she was plying Luna with breakfast pastries and listening with apparently close attention to every word. Did his mother know what had happened? Was this all some sort of cat-and-mouse, her way of trying to peer into his life? Nothing in her manner, however, indicated that this was the case; rather, Narcissa seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. With a start, Draco considered for the first time the possibility that his mother, too, was lonely; that she, too, might feel abandoned in the wake of the imprisonment or death of so many of those she'd once called friends.

"Well, the way Papa sees it," Luna was saying, "the Ministry has every reason to hide their involvement in the centaur fiasco. They don't wear clothes — as I understand it, they think they're sort of barbaric — so giving them boxes and boxes of sweaters for Christmas was never going to go over well." As Narcissa once again laughed her polite laugh, Draco suddenly pictured Luna galloping through the woods, her lower horse half chestnut-brown and gleaming with sweat, her bare breasts and silvery hair glowing whitely under a pale moon. Then, startled, he realized she'd been studying his face during this, even as Narcissa went on about some Ministry functionary, and Draco once again felt the unaccustomed heat as color rose in his cheeks. Had all his training in Occlumancy deserted him, he wondered — God help him, could Luna read his mind?

Finally, Narcissa stood and signaled for one of the house elves to clear the table. "Hold on, dear, I'll go gather the paperwork. Draco," his mother continued, turning to him, "could you perhaps show Miss Lovegood around while I find something for her father? I know I have it here somewhere …" And with that she left for her kitchen-office, leaving Draco standing and looking after her while the late morning sun spilled over the table and the overstuffed chairs and over Luna Lovegood with its lemon-honey light.

There was a pause. For a long moment they stood looking at one another, Luna wearing her quiet smile as if there were nowhere in the world she'd rather find herself; then, to fill the silence, Draco said, "Well, then, shall I give you the tour?"

"That'd be lovely." He held the door to the foyer open for her, and as she brushed by her bare elbow touched his and sent small thrills up and down his spine. Even as he recited the names of one room after another, carefully avoiding her eyes, memories of the taste of her lips and skin rushed in on him; and as she glanced back, Draco was once again seized by the suspicion that Luna could read every thought, each emotion leaving some telltale sign on his features despite his effort at icy self-control. This notion infuriated him, so that as he trailed behind her he wore a frown which pinched his thin features into a mask of distaste. Luna, as always, appeared unconcerned by his ill humor and directed her rapt gaze at the many bright treasures on display throughout each grand room of Malfoy Manor. They had passed through the formal dining hall, the library, and the downstairs sitting-room before she spoke again.

"It's amazing, isn't it, how clear His presence remains? It's just like Hogwarts, the last time I was there."

Although her voice remained neutral, Draco had no doubt about exactly to whom she referred; indeed, he felt as if he'd been struck, and once again spoke far more rudely and directly than he intended. "What do you mean? How … what makes you say that?"

Luna was wearing a simple cream-colored shift of soft muslin, and from its depths in a smooth motion she drew her wand. With a small, elegant gesture, she swept it before them, saying, "Aparecium!"

To Draco's amazement, the air shimmered for a moment and then, slowly, shadowy figures began to appear, insubstantial, with indistinct edges and yet each unmistakable. There before them was the snakelike figure of Voldemort himself, caught in a dozen poses: sitting in the easy chair before the fire, striding up the staircase, peering out a window, numerous misty versions of the Dark Lord caught, as if on film, frozen in postures he'd held more than a year before and yet each communicating an undiminished sense of menace and dread. He was everywhere. Draco looked on in wonder for several frozen seconds before he spoke again, hating the tremor in his voice as he said, "Enough … it's enough. Please."

Luna turned to him and for the first time he saw something like surprise in her eyes. With another gesture from her the phantoms were gone and once again there was nothing but the high-ceilinged room filled with morning light. She said, "I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

Draco was torn between wonder at what she'd just done and a sort of fury at his own weakness. He put his back to her and said, gruffly, "Doesn't matter. Come on. I'll show you …"

But he never finished his sentence, for Luna had come up behind him and put her arms around his chest. Her mouth touched the back of his neck, so that when she spoke next he could feel the warmth of her breath against the soft skin. "I sometimes forget how much he hurt you. Maybe more than the rest of us. Maybe more than anyone."

Stunned, Draco realized that he was on the edge of tears. He wished he had the courage to pull away, yet part of him wanted desperately to remain right there, in that moment. He stood as if paralyzed, breathing in the smell of her hair, feeling the gentle pressure of her hands clasped against his breast. She smelled like soap and sunshine, like lilacs, like freshly turned earth.

She released him. He turned, wordless, to find Luna looking at him seriously, as if trying to make up her mind about a particularly difficult question. Then she said, as if it were something she'd memorized a long time ago, "I think it's probably time you showed me your room."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Luna held out her hand, and when Draco took it he laughed suddenly, a simple, happy laugh, and shook his head. "You are without a doubt the oddest, most striking, most wonderful …" Drawing her gently to him, he kissed her quickly and experimentally, as if unsure such a thing were possible in broad daylight. Then, still giddy with disbelief, he led her up the main stairs past several rooms and corridors until they reached his own, where he drew her inside and shut the door behind them.

In the quiet that followed Draco became aware of something he'd never felt, in those fleeting encounters with Pansy Parkinson or the other girls, but which overcame him now — the sudden change in the air when two people, friends even, become instead a man and a woman alone in a room with a bed. Luna smiled at him in a way that somehow banished shyness. He could taste her from the kiss, and he could see that her eyes were fixed on him as if he were something wonderful which had only that very moment appeared.

He cleared his throat and laughed again, this time a bit self-consciously. In order to say something he said, with a sweep of his hand, "As requested, we end the tour in one of the Manor's more … private areas."

"So I see." They were overcome by giggles for a moment, standing there together, still hand-in-hand. Draco looked around his own room without any true recognition and then returned his gaze to the shining young woman standing before him. A slight flush across Luna's forehead and high on each cheek showed him that, despite her apparent composure, she too was feeling the peculiar charge that seemed to expand in the space between them with every second.

They kissed again, taking their time. Her smell was everywhere around him. He felt somehow more conscious of the tiny details of life than ever before: the hardness of her teeth compared to her wet, agile little tongue, the thrilling pressure of her breasts against his chest, the way she squeezed and relaxed her hands against him in rhythm to their kiss. When they broke apart he saw that Luna's eyes were bright and her lips were flushed and glistened; and as much as he wanted to kiss her again, more and more deeply, his pride forced him to pull away and say something before this went any further, before there was no turning back.

"I just have to know one thing," he said. He looked into her face, met her large, beautiful eyes. "Tell me you're not doing this because you feel sorry for me, or some rubbish like that. No-one should feel sorry for me. Whatever mistakes I made, however they might have hurt me or whatever — they're mine, and nobody with half a brain should so much as dare to pity me. I won't have it."

Having got all this out, Draco felt his face go hot but refused to break her gaze. Luna studied him evenly and thoroughly, as if looking both at him and around him, at whatever aura or otherworldly presence might perhaps be available to her alone. Then she stepped to him and, putting her arms around his waist, closed the space between them.

"I can promise you," she said, "that I'm about to do … whatever it is we're going to do, out of the purest of animal motivations. Or at least," she added, "that's my understanding of the situation." She smiled sweetly at him, her lower lip forming a small, irresistible bow.

Draco held her and kissed her again, quickly this time. He laughed, a sound of joy mixed with disbelief. "Yes, right then, well," he said, "that's quite good enough for me."

From then on Draco felt his hesitation slide off him, like a coat shrugged away and left in a pile on the floor. There was almost no pause in the movement of his hands when, after they broke their next kiss, he reached out to cup her breasts, to feel for the first time at his leisure their firm weight filling his palms, the stiffening of her nipples as he stroked her through the thin fabric. Luna gave a soft moan and her mouth, demanding, found his again as she gripped the cloth of his shirt at the shoulders in her small fists.

"You taste … brilliant," he told her.

"Once again," she said teasingly, "Draco Malfoy tells me the truth."

They found their way to the side of the bed. For the first time since he was a small child someone else undressed him, Luna's hands moving carefully from button to button, shoving away the fabric from his arms and then legs with an attentiveness that was almost fierce. With equally certain movements she reached down and slid her shirt over her head, stepping out of piece after piece of clothing without modesty until she stood only in her panties, cream-colored and warm-looking next to her extraordinary pale skin. He was beginning to know Luna well enough to see that, despite her apparent unconcern and almost abstracted air as she undressed before him, allowing him to take in her almost-nude body at his leisure from an arm's length away, in truth she was pleased and excited by his attention; something in her reveled in it. The moment Draco saw that, he once again knew just what to say to her, just how to say it.

"Turn around for me."

With a small flush of pleasure and a smile she did so, doing a small pirouette with her hands held out from her body, palms up. Her young breasts were full and pouting and perfect, with dusky rose-colored nipples, and they swayed gently with her every movement. He couldn't have taken his eyes off of her if he'd tried. He said, "Now the other way, please. And slowly."

She turned again for him, this time with her arms raised over her head as if practicing for a kind of ballet entirely of her own creation. Draco felt an arousal so intense it left him dizzy, his mouth and throat suddenly dry, his hands desperate to be running across her skin. It was all he could do to wait for her to once again face him, her arms still outstretched towards the ceiling, before he reached out to her and put his mouth to hers and drew her down on to the bed.

The electricity of her skin. The way she flushed and came over with goosebumps at the touch of his tongue. Draco felt as if he were learning an entirely new language, one made up of caresses and sighs, small shifts in her body or his. Every time he touched her he learned more: what made her gasp, what things left her unmoved, the places he could touch her that made her moan. He kissed her everywhere, her shoulders, her palms, the delicious nape of her neck. He put her fingers in his mouth just to see the expression on her face. She tasted like powdered sugar and the faint smell of the morning coffee clung to her and Draco had never, not in his entire life, been so happy as he was at this moment.

They were completely naked under the covers, both breathing heavily, faces raw and wild-looking, when there came a knock on the door. The piercing voice of a house elf, like the sudden reminder of a task completely forgotten, reached them in that dim, warm space as if to recall them to a world that had seemed a moment ago to be impossibly far away.

"Young master, your mother would like to see you and Miss Lovegood in the drawing room, whenever you're ready."

"Tell her," Draco said, "that we'll be down in a few minutes. Tell her I'm still busy giving Miss Lovegood the full tour."

Their eyes met and laughter took them. Then they went back to what they'd been doing, Luna now taking the lead and showing him that he was not, by any means, the only one who could use their mouth and hands to make someone gasp and moan.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

In the minutes that followed, as the full length of Luna's body lay soft and warm beside him, Draco experienced yet another small revelation, a source of joy he'd never before considered. He was in no hurry to be anywhere, he realized, and more than that: he couldn't imagine anywhere he'd at this moment rather be than right here, feeling the soft breath of this sweet girl against his neck and the gentle pressure of her ribs against his own. They had all the time in the world, if not today then tomorrow, and then the next day again. With this thought fixed in his mind his hand stole over and gently stroked first one of her breasts and then the other, drawing from the girl a small, happy sound.

They lay there nude and softly touching for as long as Draco thought he could reasonably afford to keep his mother waiting. He wanted to make love to this girl, wanted it desperately and yet, oddly, also felt in himself the capacity for patience. He would do this right, he resolved, find a way to spend hours alone with her somewhere and sometime when everyone would let them be.

Even as he thought this, as if by silent agreement, Luna slipped out of the bed and began to dress quickly as he reached for his trousers and socks. As he glanced over he marveled at how Luna's tousled hair, her raw-looking lips made her even more beautiful. Draco felt a strange sort of pride when he noticed her hands were trembling slightly, content in the knowledge that she, too, had been strongly affected by the past half-hour despite whatever face she would soon show the rest of the world.

They took turns adjusting each other's clothing as if they'd done it a thousand times. As she tried without success to smooth down her hair's wildness, Luna said, "I hope we haven't been rude. People often tell me I've been rude when honestly, I'd had no idea. Do you think we are?"

Draco laughed. "Do I care?"

Luna looked at him thoughtfully. "But I do," she said. She turned to regard herself in the full-length mirror which hung near his bureau and tucked some of her hair behind her ear with a fingertip. "After all, you're not the one who invited me here."

"I suppose I'm not." He paused, waiting to hear what this meant to her, but Luna said nothing, her reflection unreadable. Draco was struck forcibly by how quickly it had happened, this transformation from two playmates naked in bed together back into separate people, strangers practically, staring at one another across the room. He said, "Well, then, consider yourself officially invited."

"Too late." Finally giving up, Luna took out her wand and with a simple gesture her hair began to braid itself, a slow sinuous dance which Draco watched with fascination. Then, apparently satisfied, Luna turned away from the mirror and gave him a bright smile. "You can invite me back tomorrow, after lunch."

"Lunch? Did we, I mean, did you …"

"You're coming over tomorrow for lunch, I think — I believe that's how it happens. Then, I show you my room and you get angry, but that part isn't yet quite clear."

Luna's placid smile revealed nothing, and once again Draco was torn between anger and something much softer, something which lowered his voice as he asked his next question. "You've looked into our future, have you?"

She studied him again, her head cocked slightly to one side as if she were translating his words from another language. She said, "I don't want to ruin this, Draco Malfoy. We've barely just begun."

Like so much about her, Luna's habitual use of his full name both thrilled and annoyed, and so Draco merely smiled in agreement, although exactly what he was agreeing to wasn't clear to him at all. He held open the door for her and silently, together, they left his room and descended into the rest of the house.

Divination. Draco had always had contempt for it, and it certainly seemed to him that Divination had returned the favor, giving him his consistently lowest marks every year he'd taken it at Hogwarts; every effort he'd made for that fraud Trelawney had turned up nothing, just dirty teacups and unmuddied crystal balls. The notion that Luna had been relying on it for guidance when it came to him, to them … but at the same time, Draco had to admit to himself, whatever she thought she'd learned from it had led her here today, had placed her naked in his bed and promised to lead her there again. There was only so much resentment one could feel toward such a thing.

After politely receiving them in the drawing room, Narcissa — either unconcerned with the delay or simply pretending not to have noticed — gave Luna a large envelope whose back bore the red wax seal of the Malfoys; then, seeing her to the door, Draco's mother startled him by giving Luna a brief hug as if the two of them were old friends.

"So nice to see you again, dear," his mother said, "and please tell your father not to be such a stranger." This, too, was a surprise, for as far as Draco knew Xenophilius Lovegood had never stepped foot near, much less inside Malfoy Manor. Luna smiled and assured her that she would, and then turned to Draco.

"Tomorrow, then? And don't try to Apparate there — Papa has been working on a protection charm that turns invaders into toads … well, at least, it's supposed to turn them into toads. So far all its managed to do is create some warts and one unfortunate set of webbed fingers. But I'm sure it'll be working very soon." And with this Luna said her goodbyes and with a wave of her wand she was gone, leaving Draco and his mother once again alone.

There was a brief uncomfortable silence in which Draco, who knew his mother's face well even if he couldn't always discern her intentions, saw her wrestle with her curiosity and win. She confined herself to saying, "Well, I think it's lovely of her to have stopped by. Really, she could have simply sent an owl."

"I suppose she could have, yes." Draco tried to drain his face and voice of all expression. "Perhaps she was a bit bored, you know, sitting around with her looney Dad all day."

"No matter, I'm just glad to see you keeping up with some of your Hogwarts friends." Then, aware that she had stung him, Narcissa quickly added, "I mean, you know, it would do you some good to get out as well. At least to get away from your looney mother from time to time."

"Oh, Mum," Draco said, but found he had nothing to follow. Then in order to break the awkward pause, and because he knew she would enjoy the prospect, he said, "I suppose I should bring something if I'm eating there tomorrow. Could you maybe have the kitchen whip up a little cake or some biscuits or something nice like that?"

"What a wonderful idea! I'll go discuss it with Millie right this instant. Now I wonder, they're both so pale, maybe I should send an owl and ask about allergies? But then, that would ruin the surprise. Maybe something with marzipan, or some nice Devonshire cream …" Narcissa's voice trailed happily off towards the kitchen as Draco sat down heavily on an overstuffed chair and closed his eyes. Keeping them shut he raised his fingers to his nose and breathed in Luna's scent, so completely different from his own. The full day before he would see her once more already seemed unbearable, a wasteland of empty time: he had no idea how he could fill all those hours between now and then.

Opening his eyes again, Draco looked down to see one of her long white hairs standing out plainly on his shoulder; delicately, with thumb and forefinger, he plucked it off and let it dangle in a lazy beam of sunlight, silvery, still keeping its curves and waves, this little bit of her he could hold in his hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Late the next morning Draco, a box of assorted sweets under one arm, arrived at Luna's home in a foul temper. Throughout breakfast his mother had sat across from him and resolutely talked about anything in the world other than Luna, her visit, or whatever might have transpired during their time together in Draco's room; but Narcissa's unmistakeable yearning that he confide in her hung between them and made every word they uttered seem stilted and wrong. That desire, writ in her every movement, left Draco feeling guilty and somehow ashamed, and without meaning to he'd been more curt with her than usual and had even picked a fight over the wallpaper she'd chosen for the Billiard room, a topic he had no interest in whatsoever. They had finished the meal in hostile silence and then without another word Draco had taken the beautifully wrapped package she had set out for him and Disappararted to the closest safe point near the Lovegood home, a small Wizarding town about a mile away.

It was a beautiful morning, sunny and clear, and the air smelled of wild rose and lavender. Draco tried to convince himself that his mood was a product of his mother's inquisitiveness, but if he were to be honest with himself, he thought as he approached the Lovegood home on foot, he had to admit that the real culprit was the return of the dreams. Scattered images remained: the sickly feeling of the Cruciatus Curse as it travelled through his forearm and shot out of his wand, dark laughter mixed with horrid fear, and the worst of all, the one he could not escape, the recurrent sound of Crabbe's last screams as he was consumed alive by his own runaway Fiendfyre. For a year, it had been the first sound he thought of in the morning and the last troubling echo before sleep claimed him each night. He'd tried to forget, to confine the memory to the shadows of the distant past, but still he could hear his friend's dying cries and imagine the smell as the Room of Requirement ignited around him. He could not stop himself from wondering whether, in his last desperate moments, Crabbe had counted on Draco to somehow burst through the smoke and flames and despite all odds to rescue him, carry him away to safety even as the rest of the world burned.

Cresting a small hill, Draco looked upon the peculiar spectacle of the Lovegood home for the first time. The freestanding tower seemed to be fashioned out of numerous sorts of stones, some old, others fresh from the quarry; one whole side appeared to have been recently reconstructed with a hodgepodge of bricks which gave that portion of the tower the appearance of a patchwork quilt made up of every sort and size of local stone and fired clay. The entire thing listed slightly to the east, as if drawn somehow toward the still-rising sun. As he drew closer he noticed the garden, if you could call it that, an explosion of flowering plantlife in every shape and size which wreathed the base of the tower in a sort of crazy halo of clashing colors. It was, without a doubt, the single strangest structure Draco thought he'd ever seen, and he approached it with an attitude of both trepidation and lofty contempt.

The front door was just as unusual as the rest of the tower: clearly a part of the newer construction, it was made up of dark, carven wood bounded by broad metal bands and featured at its center a hideous gargoyle face, which reminded Draco of nothing so much as a terrified dog preparing to bite. Upon his closer approach the face contorted, its knots and lines stretching as it opened its toothy mouth, and for a moment Draco thought it was going to ask him a riddle or somesuch like the portals to the common rooms of the houses at Hogwarts; but instead, after a brief pause, it began to scream with a terrible, shocking intensity as if to wake the dead.

"Master, They Come!" the thing cried, so loudly that Draco instinctively covered his ears for protection. "Beware, beware, beware! … they have come, they are here, they have returned!"

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the awful voice ceased and Luna was standing in the doorway in a long, simple dress of aquamarine silk which cascaded down her body's curves like water and was trimmed in lace at her shoulders and at a hem which swirled around her ankles above her bare feet. Before he could react in any way, she turned away from him and called into the space behind her, "It's nothing, Papa!" Then she stepped aside and, laying her hand on his forearm, she drew him into the large, round room at the tower's base.

Still more or less stunned, Draco took in a scene which made the outside of the Lovegood home seem absolutely tame by comparison. Practically the only identifiable object was the spiral staircase which stretched upwards in the center, while every available bit of shelving and every piece of furniture overflowed with objects of all sizes both magical and mundane: tools and equipment, figurines and paintings which rippled and squirmed, stuffed animals in various poses, something which looked like an enormous Sneakoscope made of brass, several Muggle appliances with their cases cracked open and their innards strewn around them, half a dozen broomsticks of various manufacture, and many other items which Draco hadn't the time to identify before he was confronted by an even more peculiar sight in its own way, the descending figure of Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood.

Dressed in a dirty grey robe, his long eggshell-colored hair as disheveled as if he'd just come inside after some time spent in a stiff wind, his appearance was as elaborately overwrought as Luna's was wonderfully straightforward; from his neck hung numerous talismans, one or more rings decked each of his fingers and thumbs, hoops of burnished and filigreed metal encircled his wrists, and the whole made together such a clanking and a jangling as he walked that Draco doubted he could even hear his daughter as she introduced the two of them. As it was, Mr. Lovegood stared wildly around the room and then back at Draco as he were a most unwelcome apparition, then stretched his lips back from his teeth in a feeble parody of a smile.

"Right, yes, the Malfoy boy. Luna said you'd be coming." With a furtive movement Mr. Lovegood seemed about to extend his hand but then appeared to think better of it, allowing it to fall with with slight clinking sound back to his side. He crossed behind them and stared out the still-open front door as if to check that Draco was actually alone, then closed it firmly and leaned down until his mouth was mere inches from the gnarled wood. "_Protego_," he whispered, in a voice as low and intimate as one might use speaking to a lover. Then without offering any explanation for this odd performance, he turned and ascended the staircase, muttering inaudibly to himself.

Draco looked to Luna. After the spectacle of her father, she seemed as clean and simple as a beam of light; her face, open and smiling, held a serenity which gave it a sense of calm at the center of all that chaos. After a moment she said, "It hasn't been easy for him, either," as if that one phrase might serve to answer all his unspoken questions.

He paused, unwilling to press her further, and then held out the neatly wrapped package. "Mum sent these along."

"That was thoughtful." She moved forward and kissed him quickly, surprising him; there was something about the cluttered chamber which made him feel profoundly ill at ease. Luna looked him in the eye. "Well now, I think I like you, like this," she said.

"Like … what?" He inadvertently looked down at himself, as if she were speaking of his clothes.

"You know, confused."

Her gentle directness once again somehow precluded his ability to take offense, and instead Draco laughed for the first time that day. "You must like me most of the time, then."

"Oh, mostly, yes."

Luna gave him another brief welcoming kiss and led him up the stairs, where, in the center of another room almost as cluttered as the one below it with every manner of artifact, a space had been cleared near the center and a round table with three chairs had been laid out for lunch.

"Will your father be joining us?"

"Well, I hope so," she replied, but looked doubtful. "Papa has been doing some very important research on protections against the Dark Arts. He's trying to synthesize …" Luna broke off, shaking her head as if unsure of how to continue.

But Draco did not notice, for at that moment his attention had suddenly become focused away from Luna and entirely upward — for there, crowning the arched ceiling of the level above them, larger than it had ever been in real life, was the grinning head of Harry Potter.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Draco stood bolt upright and his napkin, which he'd only then plucked from the table, fell from his open hand. With hesitant steps he approached the staircase and stared up toward what he now saw was surely Luna's room, his eyes fixed all the while on Potter's inane version of a smile. Luna had followed him quietly and stood beside and slightly behind him, staring as well at the chain of portraits which adorned the ceiling of her bedroom.

They confronted Draco — a series of five heads, the core of the Potter gang — each bearing an expression of merriment as if they were in together on some colossal joke. Needlessly, as far as Draco was concerned, they each bore a small scroll at the base with their names, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Harry; the faces glowed with unnatural good health and Draco felt unaccountably ashamed before them, as if they were judges and he had been found sorely wanting. For a moment words failed him, but then his anger gave him a voice and he turned to Luna in a sort of rigid fury.

"Right, well, I guess I should have remembered the place I hold in your world," he said coldly. "I suppose this was a quite simple way of reminding me that Dumbledore's Army saved everybody — and from whom, exactly? Why, from the forces of the wicked, the cruel, the evil … most definitely including …" Here Draco's voice broke for a second, but then he continued, " … including anyone who once served the Dark Lord."

Luna's expression of calm, polite interest had not changed as Draco spoke, and now she asked evenly, "Are you angry because you think you should be up there, too? Because really that's hardly likely, given that we barely know one another, Draco Malfoy."

"Don't be a fool," Draco said more sharply than he'd intended, and saw instantly some of the curiosity leave Luna's eyes, to be replaced by something he couldn't yet name. He plunged on nevertheless, telling her, "I had simply forgotten that you and Potter were so close, that you were so much a part of ..."

Luna interrupted him, her voice calm but firm. "These are my friends, the first real friends I ever had," she said. "You've forgotten because you wanted to forget, I'd imagine. But wait one moment, before you say anything else, please think about whether you truly want to be angry about this. Really, you're not being reasonable."

"Luna Lovegood, telling me what's reasonable and what isn't!" Draco exclaimed, seized by a sudden, overwhelming desire to hurt her — how dare she tell him what he should be feeling? "Now there's a laugh. Living in this nutter of a tower, lying here in bed with the disembodied heads of …" he looked at them again, saw the word which entwined them in golden chains, and spat it back at her, "… of your _friends_ staring down at you day and night, yes, do please tell me what is and isn't reasonable."

"Harry Potter was a good friend to me, in ways I'm not even sure you'd understand. These people are important to me. And you do not want to talk with me about the past."

Now Draco was furious, his voice loaded with venom. "More Divination, is that it? Please, tell me how to behave, tell me what I'm supposed to be doing exactly this moment, I'm desperate for you to show me what's right and what's wrong."

"Somebody should have," Luna said.

Draco recoiled as if struck. Had he not been so lost to his anger (which, he had to admit to himself, did seem somewhat absurd, out of proportion to the event and yet now completely out of his control), he might have noticed that the room itself had grown much colder, that their breath as they spoke sharply to one another was coming out of their mouths in visible puffs, hanging in the air between them like little gouts of fog. But Draco had other things on his mind.

"Surely I'm not capable of understanding such things, not having been in the inner circle of the great Dumbledore or the one, the only Boy Who Lived." Every word was infused with all the sarcasm Draco could muster. "And don't worry, it's terribly clear I can never equal the importance of your great friend Harry Potter, of whatever you and he might have done together all those hours when you weren't too busy saving the world."

Luna's eyes were narrowed, her mouth set in a hard line. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you just lash out at anyone who tries to help you. It's sad, Draco Malfoy, really. I shouldn't be angry. I should just listen to you and be sad."

Before Draco could stop himself his right hand twitched visibly, seized with the desire to hold a wand — a gesture Luna caught and understood in a moment. Her voice, low enough now that he had to lean in closer to hear her, held real danger. "How much do you want to hurt me this time, I wonder? Are you honestly ready to try?"

Despite his anger Draco was taken aback. He too spoke in a tight, angry whisper, as if to avoid being overheard. "This time? … let me guess: past lives, right? We've been bickering like this since before the Romans started building roads?"

Luna ignored his short, mirthless laugh. "Before yesterday, do you remember the last time I was in your home? It wasn't in your big, soft bed. Can you remember?"

"I'm not sure, you know, I've hardly thought …"

She cut him off. "I was locked in your basement, for months, and do you know why you haven't thought about that all this time? Because all you remember about that time is you. You remember exactly how hard it all was … on you. I listened while your aunt tortured one of my friends, and now you come into my home to tell me — what, exactly? That I've chosen the wrong friends? Well," she concluded, looking at him pointedly, "perhaps you're right, perhaps I have."

Now Draco would have stayed silent, had he been able, but before he could stop them the words came pouring out one after another. "You think I want you as a friend? One of Potter's loyal little lapdogs, reminding me that I was never good enough, that I've made all the wrong choices — isn't that why you invited me over, so you could throw all this in my face? Well, I don't need any of Loony Lovegood's pity, thank you very much."

"You think just because I fancy you, you can talk any way you want to me? I'm not some house-elf, hanging on your every word. In fact," Luna said, taking a deep breath, "I think it's time for you to go."

But Draco wasn't about to leave; fury filled him, rooting him to the spot, readying one cruel remark after another to be used against her. He said, "I'll go when I'm good and ready. Some of us aren't the helpless pawns of Divination, some of us don't know how this all ends." He forced his lips to frame a mocking smile.

Luna looked at him now with something almost approaching pity, the emotion draining out of her face, as for some moments her eyes searched his before Draco glanced away. "I wish I could show you, Draco Malfoy, but there are some things you simply refuse to see."

"Like, what on earth made me think kissing you was a good idea in the first place?"

Luna sighed. "Do you know why your mother invited me to come by? Because she's been supporting Papa's research into protections against the Dark Arts. Not to protect against You-Know-Who, he's never coming back. She's trying to keep herself and everyone else safe against you, against what you might become one day. We're trying to find a way to help you."

The honesty behind Luna's words cut into Draco like a hot blade, and before he knew it his hand had completed the motion it had begun earlier and had drawn forth his wand; but before he could so much as raise it or point it at her he froze, every muscle locked in place. Luna hadn't uttered a word, but merely stood and searched his face as if to read some great mystery hidden beneath his immobile features. Then she said, "I know you dreamed of fire, Draco Malfoy. I would have comforted you, if I only knew how."

And then, again without so much as a gesture from her pale hand, Draco found himself back on the path outside the Lovegood home surrounded by a kaleidoscopic profusion of flowers, brightly dizzying spurts of color crowding in on every side.

He leaned over and threw up into one of the garden beds. Then, wiping his mouth and willing his limbs to stop trembling, he began the long walk away to the spot over the hill where he could finally Apparate home.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

From that moment on all he could think of was Luna. Even when he wasn't thinking about her directly, it was merely because he was deliberately crowding his mind with other things just to shut her out — which turned out to be even an even more tiresome exercise than simply allowing his mind to obsess over the subject at hand. He wanted to challenge her to a duel, to hurt her, to humiliate her; he wanted to hold her close and refuse to let go; he wanted to beg her to look deep within him and tell him at length exactly what she saw. She was the first thing he considered in the morning and the last lingering image before sleep every night. But try as he might Draco couldn't decide which of these possibilities he wanted most, or, even if he could decide, how on earth he might make any of them come to pass.

For one thing, he was determined never again to suffer the sort of humiliation visited on him in that tower. To have been so easily and readily overmatched: Draco had, to be sure, known his share of defeat, but this one rankled like few others. Of course he should never have been so foolish as to threaten Luna there, at the center of her power, supported by who knows how many enchantments and talismans against intruders; but his previous experiences with her had taught him that there was something more at work here than some mere amulet or trinket could account for. She could do things no witch he had ever met could do, and Draco resolved he would find out how, and why.

This decision allowed him to take steps he might have otherwise avoided or thought unworthy of himself — for one thing, he began, as discreetly as he could, to follow her as she went about her day. No easy task in itself, this had required he encircle the Lovegood tower at some distance with a series of enchanted stones, meticulously set at precise intervals, which would let him know when Luna left and in which direction, thus giving him a chance to guess her destination and Apparate nearby before she'd arrived. This was at best an inexact way to track her movements, but Draco didn't dare try to enchant her directly for fear of being noticed and so resigned himself to many days of Apparating into places Luna probably never knew existed and never would. Sometimes, however, he either got lucky or else her destination was such an obvious one — Diagon Alley, the Ministry of Magic — that no guess was needed, and on those occasions Draco would slip into crowds or behind corners some paces behind her, shadowing her movements, noting where she went and what business brought her there.

As far as he could tell, Luna remained unaware of his surveillance; she purchased supplies, paused to gaze in shop windows, and sometimes seemed to stop for no reason at all, gazing dreamily off into the distance and apparently lost deeply to the workings of her inner world. Draco took her in hungrily from his hiding places, studying the graceful arc of her neck, the firm curves of her body under her shifting robes. He loved how she stopped at pet stores and stared raptly into the little animals' eyes, her face almost touching the glass, and he found himself trembling if he thought she was about to drop something, lose her balance or fall. The moment when she inevitably withdrew her wand and disappeared back towards home was the worst for Draco, who would feel then the excitement suddenly spill out of him, the danger of being caught and the narcotic of her presence giving way to a feeling of deflation, of his own worthlessness, a loneliness so sharp and intense it left him breathless with pain. Yet no matter; the next morning found him casting the spell of the stones again, waiting like a spider for Luna to move, following headlong any potential twitch of his web which might once again bring him close enough to touch her, if only he dared.

Nothing else held his attention. He'd tired of the exchange of pleasantries and banal, shopworn truths which everyone around him seemed to consider conversation. Although occasionally friends still stopped by or sent invitations by owl, Draco gave them such scant attention that they soon stopped altogether. He was consumed with his plans, which he rejected almost as rapidly as they could be conceived. He considered abducting her, sending her expensive jewels, enlisting the help of intermediaries, posting letters which he drafted and then destroyed one after another, each more manifestly inadequate than the one before. He left the confines of the Manor only those times when there was some chance of seeing Luna again.

Although he'd avoided his mother as much as possible since his return from the Lovegood tower, Draco sensed her attention turning to him and to his odd comings and goings; and while he had so far managed to avoid any opportunity for her to question him, he knew he could not do so forever. Finally one evening he saw that Narcissa had made her decision, for when he returned a full dinner had been laid out for the two of them and a house-elf sat outside his room expectantly, a pressed robe laid out on his bed and a handwritten note asking him, quite politely, if he could join his mother for supper. He could only risk so much rudeness and so, trapped, Draco took several deep breaths, washed his face, combed his hair back and donned the robe, and then descended to where Narcissa sat waiting.

The meal was excellent. Draco ate steadily, suddenly aware of how his activities of the past few days had afforded him precious few chances to take in anything more than a quick kebab here or there, or a few mouthfulls of sweets stuffed in his pockets for those moments of idle time when Luna was otherwise occupied. His mother ate without appetite, watching him carefully as if gathering signs from even his smallest gestures. Following the formal courtesies they had come to practice with one another, she waited until he had finished and placed his napkin beside his empty plate before speaking about anything of consequence.

Finally pushing his chair back, Draco gave his mother a slight smile of permission; might as well get it over with. She paused as if just then thinking of what she might say, then began, "I couldn't help but notice you seem … preoccupied, and I was wondering if there's anything you'd like to talk about — I mean, I know I'm your mother, but I'd like to think you'd be comfortable enough to ask me anything." This out of the way, Narcissa searched his face and added, "We've both been through a lot, Draco. I know it's never been easy, but sometimes I think … well, you know I love your father, but really, you're all I have in the world."

Afraid perhaps that she'd gone too far, Draco's mother suddenly turned her attention to her plate, slicing one spear of asparagus neatly in half with the edge of her fork. He could feel something inside his chest crack and move, like sheets of ice melting and shifting one against another. "Mom," he began, and then stopped to clear his throat, steady his voice. He had nothing to follow. "Mom."

Kindly, Narcissa filled in the silence. "Did you and Miss Lovegood have a falling out? I really … I don't mean to pry. You're far too old for me to be giving you advice about such things. It just seemed, when she was here the other day, there was something between you. I could be wrong."

"You're not." Then, choosing his words carefully, he decided to ask what was on his mind. "She did tell me something, though. Is it true, I mean — did you actually give money to her father to fund his research? Luna, she implied ... well, she thought it had something to do with me."

Now it was Draco who glanced down to the table for distraction, but he found nothing there other than the clean disc of his plate, white and empty as a featureless moon. He raised his eyes to meet his mother's gaze; her face was thoughtful and she gave a small, audible sigh.

"Draco, when you're a parent yourself someday, you'll learn that there are things one does for one's children, things one never imagined doing beforehand, not in a million years. Sometimes they're things you're not proud of. Sometimes, you can't tell anyone about them. If you're lucky, no one even knows, not ever. You die and no one will ever know what you've done."

Draco allowed himself the luxury of anger. "I thought we were being honest, Mum," he said with a sneer. "Did you pay that old nutter, or didn't you? Does Dad know about any of this?"

Narcissa's face remained neutral, and after a moment Draco felt himself coloring in shame. She said, "I haven't always been proud of my decisions. All I hope is that you know, my whole life, I've never done anything other than what I thought was best for you."

"God, Mum …" He stopped, swallowed. "Okay, then, let me ask you this … let's say you had a fight with someone, and said some things ... and say, you're scared." As the words came Draco felt himself relaxing, sinking back against his chair in a sort of relief. "You know, you said some things you shouldn't have, and you're worried the person will never speak to you again … and you suddenly realize you couldn't bear it if you never figured out how to get this person to like you again."

His mother smiled then, and the wave of relief made Draco aware of how dangerously close he'd been to tears. She said, "Some girls are drawn to intelligence more than anything, or a feeling of danger, or even just kindness. Your father and I …" Narcissa shook her head as if to clear away whatever she'd been about to say, then continued, "I don't know Miss Lovegood, but if I had to guess, I'd say she would be one to value honesty and bravery more than anything else."

"That's your brilliant strategic advice?" Draco retorted, and then they both found themselves laughing — sharp peals of laughter, full of relief, full of the pleasure of that feeling Draco had sensed in his chest, of hidden ice, breaking. When it had subsided at last he said, "Just be honest, be myself, tell her straight out how I feel? Devious, Mum!"

His mother was still laughing. "I'm only saying it's worth a try."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

One by one the next morning he circled Luna's home at a distance, Apparating at his landmarks; one by one he gathered up his watchstones. Even though they had cost more than their weight in gold, Draco found a small pond fed by a meandering country stream and tossed the bag into its center, watching the wide ripples overlap one another and then gradually diminish and disappear. He felt such relief at this small ritual, such a sense of peace, that he was hardly surprised at all to find Luna, radiant in a skyblue sundress, standing there beside him.

In silence they stood with the breeze drifting across them, filled with the cool of the early autumn and the scents of far-off woodsmoke and ripe wild apples and the sounds of countless birds busying themselves with the gathering of thatch and seeds. Draco was afraid to speak; he remembered how he'd felt that first night at the party, as if he was dreaming and the least false move would surely jolt him back into a lonely wakefulness. He breathed in her smell when the wind carried it to him and watched the ripples of the pond and waited for Luna Lovegood to talk to him.

"I'm ready to forgive you now," she said at last.

"I'm ready to be forgiven."

She continued to gaze at the invisible spot where the bag of stones had disappeared into the pure dark water. "You went to an awful lot of trouble for me, Draco Malfoy. I suppose I should be furious with you, but you know, I've spent so much of my life alone … I suppose in the end, I understand."

Draco still hardly dared speak and let some time pass before he replied, glancing shyly at the beauty of her face in the morning sunlight. "You scared me. I behaved like an ass. You know, I hardly know you, but I've missed you. God, it feels good to talk like this."

Luna laughed. "Perhaps I'm rubbing off on you."

In the pause which followed Draco buried his fear, reached out, and took her hand.

"So, then," he said somewhat self-consciously, "I take it you know what I've been up to?"

She didn't answer him directly, turning instead to study his face. How he had craved this, her attention, the feeling it gave him of being the only bright thing in the midst of the customary darkness of his world. She said, "I'll tell you the secret now, if you want. I'd like to tell you. And you know, I really do feel I should confess something, as well."

Draco was more astonished to see the slightly abashed look that had come over Luna now than he had been by her sudden Apparition, by her gestures of forgiveness towards him, anything. "I would love to hear it."

"Well, I suppose I should be terribly angry with you for following me the way you did. You should be ashamed. But you see, I could actually watch you anytime I wanted, Draco Malfoy — I put a fairly powerful hex on you when I had to make you leave the other day. You know, you really should invest in a good Sneak-o-Scope, it's the only reliable way to detect when there's a Crumple-Horned Snorkack nearby, among other things."

Draco merely stared at her, stunned. Luna took out her wand from a small sleeve sewn into the hip of her dress. "So, yes, I actually could see you through walls, when you ate, when you were alone in your room, pretty much at any time." Luna was blushing slightly. "So I suppose we should both feel guilty. Specialis Revelio!"

The spell she'd used to spy on him hung around Draco like a sort of wet mist, reddish and clingy. He couldn't believe he hadn't detected it. Wordlessly Luna brushed her hands across his shoulders, ran them across the width of his chest and back, and with each thrilling pass of her pale hands the mist shredded and was gone. When she'd finished she was standing quite close to him, facing him, one palm still hovering near his heart.

He cleared his throat and smiled. "Are you trying to tell me you haven't been a very well-behaved girl?"

Luna laughed again. "I'm not the one who was eating lint-covered candy and lurking in wet alleyways."

Draco caught her around the waist and pulled her all the way in. They kissed fiercely, Draco thrilling at the warmth of her, her smell surrounding him, better than any dream. After some time they stopped for breath and Luna, flushed, trembling slightly, said, "Do you want to hear the other thing, the, mm …"

His tongue tasted hers. Smiling, Luna spoke against his teeth. "The secret."

"Does it involve me taking my hand off your bum? I'm afraid that's simply not possible at the moment." Draco gave her a playful squeeze and Luna, laughing, squirmed delightfully in his arms. The feel of the full length of her against him, with nothing more than the thin sundress between his hands and her body, crowded out Draco's curiosity along with most other thoughts in his mind.

"Then, later." They sat together on the grassy slope. Luna closed her eyes and smiled gently in the warmth of the late morning sunshine. She sat cross-legged, and for the first time Draco realized she was wearing no shoes. Under a few scattered bits of grass the soft pink soles of her feet shone like baby's skin.

Propped on one elbow, his other hand found her and, slowly, as if hesitant to startle some small and nervous animal, began to trace tiny circles on the fabric tented between her knees. He said, "I can't quite believe I'm here, that this is happening."

Luna kept her eyes closed and inhaled deeply. "Why do you say that?"

Instead of answering Draco continued his delicate tracework on her thighs. He was pleased to see that her smile changed as his fingers moved, that her breathing shifted subtly as his touch edged closer to her and then retreated. "I don't deserve any of this. God knows, I don't deserve you."

"Was that ever a question?" She stretched her legs out in front of her, placing one foot on either side of him; Draco took the opportunity to slide his hand downward, slipping under the hem of her dress and then gliding upward again along the naked skin of her right ankle. Luna shivered as his explorations reached the back of her knee and sighed softly. "That feels nice," she said.

He watched her closely. Small spots of color had appeared high on her cheeks and a flush had crept across her pale throat. The chatter of birds closed around them, mixed with the faint rumble of a far-off tractor and occasional hum of a passing motorcar. Draco was both terribly excited and yet somehow enormously calm, his hands moving with an assurance he hadn't known he possessed until just this moment. With her eyes still shut Luna lay back slowly, propped on her elbows now, her dress taut over the swell of her breasts. She rubbed the soles of her feet gently back and forth across the soft and springy green beneath her. Draco half-lay beside her and continued running his fingers both over and under her dress in small, feathery strokes. She curled her small, even toes into the warm earth and sighed again.

He said, "You make me ridiculously happy, did you know that?"

Luna finally opened her eyes and when she looked into his, Draco was surprised by the seriousness of her expression. She said, "Those moments when you don't want to hurt me?"

"Something like that." He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. A small breeze lifted and turned the newly fallen leaves before gently setting them down again. He said, "I don't want this to end."

Luna nestled herself in his arms, her cheek against his collarbone. "I wish I could be a better liar for you," she said. "I didn't used to, but now I see it can sometimes be a sort of kindness."

Draco tried to see her face, but it was hidden against his throat and so he looked instead up at the few high, lazy clouds making their way slowly across the pure blue sky.

"I know I don't get to keep you," he said hesitantly. "I know that. But … this does change things, right? We're going to, you know, change one other?"

Luna rolled them both over so that her full weight rested on him. Her long hair framed both their faces and sheltered them from the brightness of the day.

"I promise," she said.

Reaching down and in one long smooth motion Luna pulled her dress over her head and leaned back over him, and then there was nothing else but her, not wind or sun or birds or sky.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The heat of the day had begun to cool, and an early evening moon hung fat and pearly at the edge of the sky, when Luna slowly unentangled herself from Draco's dozing body and slipped her dress back on. She sat holding herself gently, arms over her knees, and took in the dimming canvas of deep blues and indigos hung between herself and the vastness of space. One by one the stars appeared, hesitant at first, then suddenly in a rush, as if emboldened by their numbers. A corona around the glowing moon held, when examined closely, all the colors of the rainbow.

Draco stirred and looked at her, and in that moment he envied the serenity she radiated more than anything he ever had or would for his entire life. "God, you're beautiful."

"Thank you." Smiling, Luna moved over toward him as he sat up, sliding back against the comfortable warmth of his bare chest as his arms once again enfolded her. A swift cool breeze brought scents of juniper and of some farmhand's freshly roasted supper.

"Does this mean I've earned my place on your ceiling?"

"Oh, yes." Luna's eyes hadn't left the sky. In a low voice, she told him, "We should go soon. Papa gets worried when I don't come back by nightfall, even now."

While Draco couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment at her for bringing up the outside world, he knew better than to argue and so simply reached for his clothes. With the barest shifts of her weight against him and a slight turn of her head she stopped him. "I said soon. I wonder sometimes, Draco Malfoy, if you ever really listen to me."

He laughed and gave her a swift nip near the nape of her neck, for which she rewarded him with a delicious shiver. He said, "I'll have you know, I'm not sure I've ever listened to anyone else quite so intently."

"Good," Luna said. She stared in silence for a few moments at the emerging stars. "It's sometimes so very hard to talk to people in a way they can understand."

Crickets had begun their rhythmic, echoing calls, which seemed to advance and then retreat all around them. "Doesn't everyone feel that way, sooner or later?"

Luna lay against him quietly composing her thoughts, her hair against her shoulders like silver thread cascading from a loom. Draco stretched slowly, utterly content with her, with the smell of the earth all around them, with the soft and deepening night.

At last she said, "You're going to be angry with me."

Draco felt his heart beat faster. He said, "You know, for the first time in my life, I think I can promise someone that I won't, and mean it."

"All right, then." Luna propped herself up on one elbow and looked seriously at him. She said, "It was at the Battle of Hogwarts. Something happened to me when I fought … when we fought you-know-who. It's hard to describe, but …" Luna looked into the distance and Draco willed himself to relax, not to stiffen against her or push her away. "It was as if he just imagined it, and it happened. It wasn't like he was casting proper spells. He just wanted something badly enough to make it happen. Three of us could barely hold him."

Draco was curious despite himself. He said, "I suppose I know what you mean."

Luna spoke as someone lost to a vivid memory. "For weeks and weeks I thought about it. I kept returning to what it felt like, those eyes burning into us as we dueled him. And then one day, as I was watering Papa's flowers, it sort of came over me. The wand, the words, all of them, they're just tools. We are magic, not them, and I suppose I'd been taught that — but in that moment I actually knew it to be true. That's what Dumbledore understood, and Voldemort: it's something you can tell anyone, but for the magic to really work, you have to know in your heart that it's true."

Draco hardly trusted himself to speak. "So, what happened?"

She seemed to come back to him, turned and smiled. "Oh, I Apparated around wandless a bit, which was tiring, and then I made dinner."

Laughing, Draco reached for her again. They kissed and soon after, curling herself against him, Luna said, "I'm glad you managed to keep your promise."

He bent down and ran his tongue the length of her side, from the hollow of her hip to the soft swell where her ribs met the edge of her breast. She touched his throat, moved her fingers through his fine, silky hair.

The sky was a deeper blue than ever and by now well-spread with stars. "Are you cold?"

Instead of answering, Luna said, "Can I show you something?"

"Anytime." Draco expected magic this time, but he was utterly unprepared for the rippling which he felt under her skin, for the sudden sprouting of glistening silver hair which in an instant covered her skin, or for the realization that he was pressed not against Luna anymore, but instead a large, argent-furred lynx which nonetheless still possessed Luna's eyes. Before he even had a chance to truly react, Luna was herself again and laughing freely at him, not at all unkindly.

"You should see your face."

"So, you're an Animagus. I had no idea." Although he'd tried to speak cooly, dryly, Draco hadn't been able to keep the envy out of his voice.

"But you see, I'm not, that's the point."

For a moment Draco closed his eyes. He thought about letting it all go, his anger, his resentment, all of it. He said, "Can you teach me?"

She kissed him again. "Take a deep breath." Draco knew from the way Luna spoke that she had planned this out, every word. "It's like breathing, or eating. It's something you've always known how to do."

He had one last question. "Have you ever shown this to anyone else?"

"You know very well I haven't."

With a smile hanging on his lips Draco did as she instructed. He relaxed every muscle, consciously smoothed out his forehead and let his arms lay limp and leaden against the grass. He drifted with the clean evening air. She said, "Listen to my voice."

Luna told him about running through the woods, the clean beauty of all four feet beating against the soft needles and crisp fallen leaves of the forest floor. First comes the kinetic joy of the chase and then the end of the chase. She talked about the purity of the kill, of the prey wriggling out the last of its little life between your jaws and then falling still. She told him about the rise of the moon and the smell of distant blood. The tiny drumbeat of your own heart within the narrow ribcage, the claws extending and then retracting from their hidden sanctuary within each paw. Living life in the smallest of movements and the sharp scents one might glean from the faintest breeze. Draco listened until the words were one smooth sound, like the rustling of the tide against the shore. When he opened his eyes he realized that Luna was large, much larger than she should have been; but no, it was him, he knew with a start, he was long, and furry, and very small.

In a moment he was himself once again. "Not that, please," Draco said. "Anything but a ferret, really."

Luna stroked his face with her soft hand. "We can't always chose what it is we turn out to be," she said.

And understanding this, understanding much more than he could ever have put into words, Draco took once again his new silvery, sinuous form, turned his sharp face to Luna even as she shifted and changed, showing him her fangs in the light of the risen moon. There was so much that could only be said by the body, by a soft bite or an outstretched paw. Tumbling together through the dry leaves and cool grass, tooth and claw they fought for purchase, filling their mouths once more with flesh and fur before it came time at last to separate each from the other into the vastness of the autumn night.

The End

Author's note: I'd like to thank all of you for taking this journey with me, for all your patience and kind words over these past months. Special thanks to Theolyn, without whom this story would never have begun.


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